


no step had trodden black

by dachyk



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Angst and Drama with a Happy Ending (technically), Canon Routes, Drabble Sequence, F/M, LeoSaku Week 2016, POV Second Person, all prompts are used
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 18:36:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9001939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dachyk/pseuds/dachyk
Summary: You have to count up to six before you can start all over.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just regurgitating a short version of what I said on ff.net, but y'all are seriously awesome for making this week such a great week. Shoutouts to Rapis because she made this all possible, to the writers/artists/fans who helped by doing all their cool stuff, and to reksigh on 8tracks because that Leo/Sakura playlist is A+
> 
> (please listen to it [here](http://8tracks.com/reksigh/shine-a-light); it deserves more love)
> 
> I used all the prompts because I thought it was cool that they complimented each other; it definitely made writing this fun. That being said, I don't usually work with canon, so I'm kinda 'ehhhh' about some parts.
> 
> Still, enjoy!
> 
> Title comes from Robert Frost's 'The Road Not Taken.'
> 
> (crossposted from ff.net)

Hoshido's royal family gets themselves caught in a trap. You think it's utterly pathetic. Zola is a sorcerer, not a trickster, and though the thought prickles your head, they have no excuse for taking the bait.

But you're angry at yourself, partly because you didn't know this was happening under your noses, but mostly because you had to rescue _them_. Because of all the people to choose, of all the places to be, of all the morals you have... Why is dignity of noble status?

At least Ryoma is wise. And though Hinoka is hot-headed and Takumi is uncouth, at least they aren't Sakura—because Sakura is meek.

As you watch her across the table, she folds from you, shoulders hunched, and presses onto herself like it gives her distance.

You make her uncomfortable.

Disgusting.

You wonder what's worse: to be undignified, or to have a toast with your enemy?

You think her siblings will have answers but she won't, and it makes your fingertips pulse into your goblet with magic.

Only one person notices. They're not yours, not Elise or Camilla or Xander—but it's her, the shy girl on the other side, the quiet one who's fit to tuck her tail away and pray the war won't reach her.

When her eyes level with yours, she drops them back to her plate. There is no animosity, no hatred, no conflict on her face.

Just compliance.

And you're angry because you let this happen. You let yourself see.

"You embarrass yourself," you mutter. She jolts up to look at you again. No one else notices because no one else should.

She still says nothing.

Teeth grit.

"Be proud," you hiss, "that you needed us to save you. Be grateful, like you should be."

Propinquity wills her to hear but she doesn't listen. She keeps herself low and small and unworthy, like she's the one wasting your time.

And if she's like this, she's right, and you don't know why you're even trying.

"Chin up, Sakura." It's pitying and mocking and condescending all at once. " _Princess_ Sakura."

Magic leaks from her hands.

You sit taller.

 

* * *

 

The changing of seasons comes with new beginnings. For you, it's a dawn of a better era. Hoshido has won the war, your family is still alive, and it's better than you can say for everyone else.

Sending ambassadors to Nohr is Ryoma's idea. You are chosen to go because Hinoka is helping your brother while Corrin is busy with restorations. Takumi wants nothing to do with Nohr, and Azura...Azura might've been perfect.

Or, perhaps, better than you.

But complaints are a waste of breath amidst duty and your interest. Arriving in Nohr is filled with mixed emotions, of whether or not you should feel sympathetic or proud or humble. At least you're certain you're _happy_. Because the halls of Shirasagi are almost as lively as they've always been, and it makes you feel full, warm, alive.

Krakenburg, in comparison, is too spacious and disengaged.

And it makes you feel.

That's your first thought when the new king welcomes you—if what he does is even fit to be called a welcome. His retainers eye your own with cautious stares, and he bows at you, kisses your hand, because it's polite to do.

"The skies are dangerous in the dark," he says. "But I see you made it unharmed."

You want to ask if he's disappointed. "Th-thank you. I had a safe ride."

His eyes bore into yours. Iced, cold, frigid, they're like the temperatures that caress your skin. It takes all your willpower not to look away. You are a diplomat, you must remind yourself. And he is in your mercy; it's not the other way around. You hold something over him. You have authority.

"When I heard it was you that would be coming," he adds, "you could imagine I was rightly surprised."

But he knows which words to choose. Which ones not to say. Your nails dig into your skin. "I am more than...more than _capable_ for r-reparations, King Leo," you bite back. "Your standards will be met and surpassed."

His brow quirks. "I wouldn't have agreed to this arrangement otherwise. But humour me when I say it was not so long ago that I saw you holding a staff instead of a scroll."

"And right now, I take up w-words instead of weapons."

You search him for answers. He's closed off. But when he searches you, you're an open book. He can read you, shrewd gaze too calculating, too intrusive. Buds sprung in curiosity, you let yourself ask, because he'll only prick himself.

You ask if he sees his sister in your eyes, if he sees naivety and youth and habits he wishes he held onto. You ask if he's happy.

He must see the question on you, because he licks his lips and says quietly, "I was never the first choice for the throne, but now, I am last in line."

You don't know if he expects the words to freeze you over—you have a bleeding heart, you're a healer, you've got sympathy in your veins—but they heat you up instead. He can't use that against you. He's not allowed to. "You're... I don't think... No. N-no kind of apology will sate you. No restitution will make you whole. And I won't say I understand, but it's over now, King Leo. The season of war—i-it has come and passed."

He's hardened. "Because passions wilt when the winds blow cold?"

You shake your head. "B-because time continues. Even if you _don't_."

Then you bite your tongue and doubt. He sees it, that moment of vulnerability.

You see the way his face loosens and crumples too.

You are silent.

He murmurs, "Come. This numbness outside irks me."

When he turns, he waits for no one. You stare after his cape, worn hotly on his shoulders, and miss the warmth of your home.

 

* * *

 

You think it's ridiculous that Nohr and Hoshido are working together. Corrin and Azura are out of their minds, and so are you for believing in them.

It's the talk of peace that must be getting to your head, that promise of solidarity and an end to strife. Ha. As if years of fighting can trickle down to petty rivalries. It almost sounds like a joke.

But if the talk of peace gets to you, then it gets to everyone else. Xander is receptive. Your sisters have begun to intermingle. Like this, you've become the stubborn one, when all you are is wary and careful; it's begun to weigh you down.

So you make yourself acquainted with Hoshido's prince Takumi.

And you hate him.

He's as insufferable as you imagined, with a bitter tongue made for pejoratives and a temper that's waiting to implode. Your head aches with just the sight of him, and it's driving you madder than any outlandish future plans that Corrin and Azura have in store.

But something clicks, and suddenly, you're spending much more time with Takumi. And suddenly, you realize that you have too many things in common. And suddenly, you're looking forward to your next conversation about history, or your next game of shogi.

It...feels weird.

It is weird.

It makes him more human. He's just the same as you. There are times when he'll be the only one to listen to what you say, or when he's the only one who 'gets' it. And it's become a tentative connection you've begun to accept.

Takumi's other siblings don't share the honour. Ryoma is for Xander, with crown princes and duties and responsibilities not for you. Hinoka is headstrong and straightforward, which Camilla works well with. Sakura, you've learned, is more than her appearance allows. She's tenacious and kind and eats red bean mochi whenever she can.

She, you've learned, is your sister but more demure.

One afternoon, you're playing with Takumi under a tree. The war council was a few hours ago, but the two of you are still talking about strategy; a pincer attack captures his bishop and you're a few moves away from a check.

Sakura comes with Elise to practice music—you hear your sister's laugh before you see them, and it quiets once they see your game in place.

Takumi looks at Sakura, then you, then turns uncomfortable. She pretends not to notice. You stare at the exchange with enough tact to suggest they should go, but Elise beats you to the punch.

"I think they could use a bit of music!" She gives Takumi the stink eye but grins at you. "Let's tune here, Sakura. They can't chase us away."

Sakura smiles but doesn't move. There's interest in her eyes as they drag from square to square, from piece to piece, from brother to brother. Takumi thinks about his next move.

"Is… Who's winning?" she asks.

Takumi purses his lips.

You say, "Me."

She nods.

There's an imbalance here, between kotos and sweets, and board games and books. You can give her a chance, only because you've done it before. "Why?" you ask. "Do you want me to teach you?"

She is surprised.

Reticent.

Her brother looks away.

Then she says, "N-no. But thank you."

 

* * *

 

Nohrian staves have less range than Hoshidan rods, but as a result, they are more potent. With the battles getting more difficult each day, so does the choice of buying between the two.

The shop's bell rings your entrance. Today, Prince Leo of Nohr is the person-in-charge. Behind the counter, he doesn't stand to greet you, but he does nod in acknowledgment.

"Spend wisely," he says. "It's easy to lose yourself in here."

You smile weakly. "I-I-I'll keep that in m-mind."

You've never had to be alone with him. In battles, you keep with other Nohrians—Laslow, Nyx, Benny, Beruka. Sometimes, his older brother or sister. Never him.

You've heard stories though. And you've seen how he works. He's ruthless on the battlefield, so quick to say a spell, so precise in where it lands. It's striking yet unpleasant; because as much as it's enemies on the other side of tale, you feel a bit lost when hearing of death and ruination.

You're glad, then, that he's not the enemy. Or at least, not anymore.

But you can daydream of possibilities, like when he uses the Brynhildr to impale trees into soldiers' bodies, or make the ground swallow them whole...

You gulp.

You don't want to think of the possibilities.

It's odd though, how he uses his magic to harm, while you, _Sakura_ , use it to cure. His plants are beautiful—they are green, lush, robust, and much too healthy—but he makes life to take life. He creates only to destroy. He uses saplings to wither older blooms.

Why use beauty for such ugly things?

You don't understand.

"Princess Sakura?"

You yelp, almost trip, but manage to turn around without embarrassing yourself. He's looking at you intently. You shrink under his gaze.

"Do you need help with something?" he asks. "You've been standing in the same spot for a while."

You remember what you're here for. Ears turn warm. You say, "Yes! I-I mean no! I mean—s-sorry, I was thinking," and grab whatever's nearest.

Striding up to the counter, you put down a sun festal. It's not a bad choice, thankfully. But as you pull out your money, he says, "You should get a mend."

"...Pardon?"

A shrug. "Your magic is weaker than my sister's, but you're far more hardy than her." He inspects its design, narrowing his eyes. "I've seen you. You're strong enough for the front lines."

You don't know if this is a veiled compliment with good intentions. Perhaps, you think, he's joking—he's not, with brows stitched as a contemplative frown rests on his lips. You don't know what to think.

When you think of the Brynhildr perched in his hands, allowing him to decimate enemies with a flick of his wrist, you think it's not in your nature to kill.

So you shake your head. "It's...okay." Then a tentative smile. "B-but I'll get one next time!"

Maybe.

He shrugs again. "Whatever you want." His hand outstretches. "Then that'll be a thousand."

As you exit the shop, new rod in hand, you think you'll never understand him.

 

* * *

 

Xander and Sakura's engagement is the happiest news the army's had in a while. They're tired of Valla. They're tired of Anankos. And even if it's a military wedding, with resources lacking and time too consumed, it's the best reprieve they could ask for.

For you, it's hard.

Because it tells you that in the end, there is still a hierarchy. One of status—you are the second son. One of power—you aren't a leader. One of ability—you're not as adept with the sword.

One of love.

She doesn't love you.

Not when Xander is superior in every single way.

You stand at the front of the audience, as expected of a supportive family. Camilla is ecstatic, gaze intent to capture every single moment, but you don't dare look at the altar, at the priest, at your brother. It makes you feel something—it claws at your gut—and your head may try all it wants to rationalize you being here, but every inch of your body is screaming at you to run. You're just glad nobody notices.

When Elise begins playing her violin, adrenaline spikes.

Altar or aisle; there are no other places to look.

You try to stop shaking, but your hands won't listen. You try to put a smile on your face, but your mouth won't either.

(stop—)

And your eyes certainly don't.

They slip to the end of the line. Ryoma is there, arm hooked with his sister's, clothes tailored by Oboro to the finest detail. But he isn't what you're— _they're_ here for. They're here for her.

She is beauty with her dress (traditional Hoshidan garb) and beauty with her flowers (braided in her hair, tucked in her arms) and beauty in her eyes (softened, glistening) and beauty in her cheeks (rosy, warm) and beauty in her smile (wide, nervous, giddy).

Your heart panics.

Your head hurts.

(don't—)

Because it's a smile to the altar. And as much as you can stare at her forever, it is the better brother you can't look at. It's her _with_ the better brother.

But you must. You tell yourself you'll look when you calm down.

So you take a deep breath.

Then another.

And another.

Another—

 

* * *

 

You face a Nohrian prince and you're undoubtedly scared.

At the very least, the grip of your bow keeps you from fainting. Your hands itch to grab the rod at your side—it's a comfort, like an old friend you haven't seen in a while—but it's not the time or place to use. You've trained to kill. You've made yourself a murderer.

Self-defense isn't your motive. No, it's because this battlefield is vicious, and you can't be weak and hide behind others anymore. They should think of themselves, and you don't want to be the one to drag them down. You must be independent. You must stand alone. And if protecting yourself comes along with it, you won't turn it away.

Your vice is wanting strength.

But is that such a bad thing to desire?

Because you look at your opponent, mighty with his horse and the magic in his hands, and see control. He knows what he's doing. He knows what he wants. There is spite, a burning hunger that needs to be quenched. There is self-preservation, for reasons forever unheard, that lets him see another day. There is a will, a glory, that comes with being alive.

You don't need resistance or defense or attack; your heart wants more conviction. It wants to prove itself to others, to protect those it cares for. It wants healing to be done in a world without unnecessary war.

And it can't do that if you're weak.

So when he raises his hand to strike, you pull the string back and let go.

 

* * *

 

The cherry blossoms remind you of snow: slow to fall, light, and dusts the ground and sky completely. With colours so light, it's almost pure. Beautiful. Not because it's something you've never seen before, or because it's something you've never had, or because you complete it or it completes you, but it just is.

You look to your side, see Sakura, and think there could be nothing more beautiful in the world.

When she looks back, you can't believe you're thankful to see adoration in her eyes.

"Leo," she says, "what's on your mind?"

You want to wonder what could've been, if this wasn't happening. If you weren't here, if the war was ongoing, if your countries were still enemies. If you never listened, never saw, never knew—never loved. If you never loved.

But you can't. It's hard to think about because gods, you like what you have now.

So you answer, "You."

She laughs and reaches for your hand. You feel the lines in her palm. The way her joints bend. The way she shares her warmth and you share yours.

"Y-your hands are sweaty," she says, giggling.

You smile back. "Yeah." And as the cherry blossoms fall from their branches, you lean over to capture one in your lips.

You feel the way she doesn't let go.


End file.
